


Winter Has Come

by fabulouslylazy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sansa Stark, Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, Canon Divergence - Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, Crypts of Winterfell, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Minor Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, One Shot, POV Petyr Baelish, POV Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish Dies, Sansa Stark-centric, Short One Shot, White Walkers, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulouslylazy/pseuds/fabulouslylazy
Summary: The Battle of Winterfell rages on, while the women, children, and the helpless are stuck within the crypts. Sansa Stark must face off against an unexpected foe whom she believed to be dead, but thanks to the Night King has returned for one final confrontation.
Relationships: Lord Baelish - Relationship, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 11





	Winter Has Come

_“Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them.”_

Before the Mockingbird knew what was happening, Arya Stark appeared before him in the blink of an eye, brandishing a sharp dagger. With one deft slash, the blade cut through the male’s neck with ease, causing a spray of blood to spew forth. Lord Baelish attempted to raise his hands to stifle the wound – but it was far too late for that. He felt the life drain from his slender frame; a creeping coldness washed over him as blood poured forth from the gash. Petyr’s gray green eyes made contact with Sansa’s, it was the last thing he witnessed before slumping forward as the life drained from his body.

Darkness. All around. And cold, it was freezing – as if he were submerged in an icy body of water unable to move. The deafening silence plaguing him began to fade slowly as sounds of a raging battle filled the space in which he lay. Cries of agony and fear rang out across the depths of the crypt as a sudden large rumble shook the ceiling causing debris to shake loose and fall. Painful moans began to erupt from several nearby tombs; the sounds of the undead mixed with the din of the skirmish above. The creature started to move as an unnatural strength flooded through his decaying body. He stood up, clad in a set of costly robes which clung loosely against his skeletal frame. Shuffling forward, the White Walker’s milky gaze scanned the dimly lit vault as the helpless inhabitants of Winterfell scrambled to protect their lives.

Sansa Stark’s worried hues shifted to fall upon the short statured Lion who stood next to her. The former couple had found a tomb to hide behind while chaos erupted around them as the Battle of Winterfell raged on above. Sansa attempted to shoot Tyrion a reassuring glance as she gripped a jagged piece of Dragonglass in her gloved hand. Hearing the agonizing cries of pain issuing from her citizens as the dead sprang to life and began attacking, Lady Stark felt a spark of anger ignite within her chest. “I cannot sit idly by while my people perish….” The crimson haired Wolf spoke in a hushed yet stern tone as she emerged from her hiding spot. Sweeping forward, Sansa spied an undead woman wrestling a child to the ground. Skeletal hands reached out to envelop the youth’s throat, stifling their desperate cry for help. Heart racing wildly, Lady Stark rushed forward and thrust the makeshift dagger deep into the Wight’s backside. A chilling screech filled the cavern as the undead woman slumped forward, her body suddenly shattering into a million icy pieces.

A series of trembling gasps fell from between the woman’s petal shaped mouth as Sansa tried to cope with what had just taken place. She had killed someone– no, some _thing._ Sansa’s heart raced against her chest like a beating drum as citizens fighting for their lives rushed past, trying to outrun the undead. Icy hues shifted suddenly to fall upon another figure shambling towards her, this one appearing to be much more intact than the Wight she had just taken care of. A pang of panic began to gnaw at the Little Dove’s heartstrings as the dim lighting of the crypt revealed familiar features. ‘Call me _… Petyr.’_ An early memory surfaced as Lord Baelish, or rather, what was left of him staggered towards Sansa. His face still held several notable qualities; such as his slight smirk and salt and peppered facial hair. But the rest of Littlefinger’s face seemed to have peeled back, revealing bits of bone and decaying muscle underneath. A gasp caught in Lady Stark’s throat as she began to back up, hand gripping the makeshift dagger until her knuckles turned white beneath her glove.

_How could this be?_ Mused the Wolf as she witnessed the man her sister had slain coming towards her now. Several guttural moans escaped from Petyr as he closed in on Sansa, hungry to extinguish her life force in tribute to his new savior, the Night King. The Stark sibling knew it was killed or be killed– without further hesitation she brought the Dragonglass weapon up and thrust it forward as the creature reached for her. Sansa’s frame glided onward; she felt the dagger drive into Baelish’s midsection causing him to let out a final screech of pain. “Farewell… _Petyr_.” Sansa lingered momentarily on his name, her tone filled with both venom and pity. The undead man staggered backwards, robes scraping the corpse strewn ground as his body froze and fractured into tiny shards of ice. The Wolf suddenly met eyes with Tyrion as he emerged from their hiding place just in time to witness Littlefinger perish for a second time. Sansa rushed forward, stopping only to gaze down at her former husband momentarily. “Let’s go….unless you want to join _them._ ” The Stark sibling motioned to the inside of the crypt as she rushed forward, heading for the winding stairs that would lead them to the surface.


End file.
